


a flower trampled underfoot

by Anonymous



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-26 16:59:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13862004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Lúthien's gamble goes badly.Rape fic.





	a flower trampled underfoot

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rape fic. Please mind the tags.

Lúthien was rudely thrown down before the song ended, and her head hit the floor. She quickly made to rise, feeling the sting of the blow and the loss of momentum, but a clawed hand landed heavily on her shoulder and pushed her down again. Fear mounted inside her heart and her eyes instinctively looked around for Beren, but they found only darkness beyond the blinding light of Morgoth’s crown.

“Not thus, O king…” She tried in her best pliant voice, but a kick near her stomach took the air out of her lungs. She felt the ground tremble when he knelt and held her down, the light of his crown piercing through her closed eyes, through her very being. The beauty of the jewels was overwhelming even in that moment of despair, and she opened her eyes wide. They were assaulted by light that was brighter than Elbereth’s creations themselves, brighter even than the sun and the moon, shining over the vilest face she had ever seen. Its terribly symmetrical lines culminated in two cruel eyes where she saw herself reflected - and yet it wasn’t herself at all, but a scared little thing, pathetic in its terror, prey to be put down and devoured whole.  _A tender morsel, to savour and defile_ . She averted his eyes, panic overtaking her, and struggled in earnest to pull away or escape, but a mighty hand pinned her down with the weight of a mountain. The sound of ripping was followed by the jarring feeling of cold air against her body as his claws tore her clothing off with powerful gestures.  _My cloak_ , she remembered, and tried to reach for it, but it was hopelessly pinned under them. She felt his gaze on her skin as if it burned her. An evil sound came from above, echoing in the emptiness of the room, and through her dread she recognized it as  _laughter._

“There is another song I wish from thee, Lúthien.” His hand was cold metal exploring her body with disgusting thoroughness, sending violent shivers down her spine. She struggled in earnest, but it hindered him not, the heavy mass of his body looming over her like a living cage. She couldn’t think or breathe, panic and dreadful anticipation overtaking her. That vile sound came from above again, that unclean laugh, dripping with pleasure and appreciation. It made her angry, almost as angry as afraid.

And yet too soon a new wave of fear drowned out the anger as he roughly shoved her thighs open and placed himself between her legs. She felt him pressing against her, the contact all but burning her skin, making her head spin.  _No_ , she screamed inside her mind,  _no, no, no, no_ , and  _Beren_ , and  _Mother_ , and  _Father_ , and  _anyone!_  - But the words didn’t find the way to her lips, and for the first time in her life, her voice failed her.  _Beg_ , she thought,  _sing, call for help, Tinúviel_ , but somehow these thoughts felt distant, like they belonged to another person. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest and sharp, crude fingers being shoved into her mouth, pressing her tongue mercilessly. She had to escape, and Beren was…

“Where is thy voice now, minstrel?” the mockery in his tone was unmistakable, words falling on her like daggers. “Thou shalt find it soon enough, with the aid of thy master. For I am Melkor, ruler of the fates of Arda.”

And then it came.

Nothing could have prepared her for the intrusion that followed. Her whole body tensed and arched, the pain escalating with every inch he drove inside her. It felt despairingly wrong - twisted and unnatural and evil and  _wrong._  A memory flashed in her mind, unbidden: the comforting weight of Beren’s arms, the affection of his embrace, the tender care of his touch. The image was fleeting, but the dissonant sweetness of it was enough to draw bitter tears from her eyes. Melkor was like a flame, filling her up and growing inside her as though he meant to take over, to inhabit her very skin and leave no trace of her behind.

She wanted to cover her eyes and ears, but her arms felt impossibly heavy. Her whole body was lead, a terrible and foreign thing she could not sustain - wished to escape.  _Mandos_ , she called in her mind, a name she had not known before now, and was immediately answered by a derisive noise from above. All of a sudden one of her hands moved unwillingly, grasped by beastly fingers with abject gentleness, and a jolt of utter revulsion ran through her when he firmly brought it down to the place where he invaded her. It was maddening, to feel the intrusion from inside and outside, the nauseating slickness and how deeply he was buried in her...

Words poured from his mouth like thick poison, drenching her.

“The Elder King has claimed thee and no one else can have thee now. Not life, nor death, nor thy mortal pet, nor even thyself, daughter of cravens. The King of Arda has claimed thee forever.”

The words struck her like a sword. She pulled her hand free with renewed desperation when his grip slackened, but it was of little use; he took hold of her hips and angled them like she weighed nothing, then he began to move.

The first movements were slow, and yet more excruciating than the steady rhythm that followed - soon the pace became unrelenting, punishing, making her whole body tremble with the violence of his thrusts. The force of the motion made her eyes jerk open and then close unwillingly, again and again, and she realized she was crying freely. Under the unforgiving light, she could see his revolting pleasure, his malicious smile, his satisfaction as he bent down to lick at her with a monstrous tongue that left wet, repugnant trails over her face. His blackened hand went to her breasts; she weakly tried to push it away, but to no avail, as it seemed to please rather than hinder him. His tongue was on her face again, this time pushing deep inside her mouth like a snake. She felt an overpowering abhorrence twisting from the inside, as physical and violent as Melkor’s alien length inside her. He removed his tongue and she retched, but did not have the strength to turn her head away. Exhaustion and pain had had her unresisting at last.

Instead, she screamed. Out of her came an ugly, ringing sound that she had never heard before, a shriek of despair that belonged to Melkor as much as to her. It pierced her ears and abused her throat, and was soon accompanied by cruel laughter that rose above her like a mighty wave, washing over every inch of her being, until she could stand it no more. Her voice died abruptly, all spent, and the scream turned into incoherent sobs. She raised her hands with much effort to hide her face from the hideous light of his crown and the revolting hunger in his eyes. But nothing could drown out the grotesque slapping of flesh against flesh, the obscene wet noises every time he pulled out and pushed in again, the pain that came with every thrust as he drove into her relentlessly.

Her torment dragged on.

For a moment of pure horror it occurred to Lúthien that it would never end. That this was what his words had meant earlier- this torment would go on forever. She wanted to die, but couldn’t; her spirit wanted to flee, but it was trapped. She kicked feebly at him one more time, but his sharp claws swatted her legs away almost playfully. She knew then that this would be the rest of her existence. How many hours had already passed, and how many days or years still would? She tried to recall Doriath, but only darkness came: darkness around her and darkness inside her. The world had ended above them, and only pain and darkness remained there, and fire and punishment, and the unforgiving light of the Silmarils banishing the gentle shadows where once she could have hidden and faded away.

She was proven wrong when, with mighty shoves and a low rumbling noise, he at last spilled inside her, pump after pump of something thick and vile. His grip slackened slightly and his heavy head bent back, the blinding light not shining directly on her for one merciful moment. She felt him breathe, and it seemed strange and impossible. A distant realization crossed her mind -  _this creature is alive_  - and it felt meaningful, but she couldn’t remember why. His body was heavy against hers and he was still inside, thrusting erratically and weakly, slowly diminishing and leaving emptiness behind. She felt hollow and broken, like a useless shell. Like a flower trampled underfoot.

Her breath slowed down as well, and time dragged on. Shadows moved above her, chased by the exquisite light of the jewels... Slowly, shadows stirred inside her as well. A moment passed, and then two. 

She began to sing.

Or rather, she hummed, coaxing the soft noises from her bruised throat. As her breath steadied, so did the song. It came out halting and ungraceful, quiet as a whisper, but still full of shadows and quiet places she found inside herself again now that the hateful light was no longer directly on her. Her voice’s uncharacteristic harshness fit the barren dark of the hall rather well. She wove the song without thought, quietly at first , then with more certainty, and felt something move deep within her. He moved as well, the heavy body lowering, the heavy head bowing, until at last he tumbled beside her, his crown falling off and mercifully rolling away from them. She didn’t have to think - her hands moved almost by themselves, pulling her cloak from under her and gently laying it over him. She held her breath for a moment.

Melkor slept.

She left her rags on the floor, but it didn’t seem to matter anymore in the darkness. Nothing much did. Still singing, she got up after nearly falling down twice - her legs were unsteady and sore and slippery-wet, and her body felt strange to her - and managed to find Beren. He was tied down and guarded by a lesser creature, both asleep. Even in the faint gloom she could see his face bore black and purple marks, his mouth gagged with rags, and yet he had never seemed more beautiful to her. Had he seen it all happen?  _Had he tried to…_  She crouched and made to plant a kiss on his face, but recoiled at the last moment, her cheeks burning. She realized she was crying again. Raising her voice in song once more, she instead took from his side the knife they’d gained from the Kinslayer, and walked back to where the monstrous body lay near the throne.

The very ground shook when she planted it in the Enemy’s throat.


End file.
